


Sometimes the Scariest Rides are the Most Enjoyable

by NotVerySmol



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe- Mob, Based on a Tumblr Post, Broke Peter, College Grad!Peter, Dangerous Wade, How Do I Tag, I'm not sure where this fic is going, M/M, Mob Boss!Wade, Sassy Peter, Size Difference, Tumblr Prompt, cuz it's adorable, foot fetish jokes, like LOTS of foot fetish jokes, prompt-based, they'll never not be hilarious to me lmao, wade might be a bit ooc tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-01-22 17:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotVerySmol/pseuds/NotVerySmol
Summary: Peter manages to lose his wallet on the subway one day, and briefly panics over not being able to eat for the next few weeks. Luckily, he finds it in the mail the next day, along with:-$200-various furniture items-a pepperoni pizza-and a mysterious address written in blue crayonHe follows the address to satisfy his own curiosity, but only unlocks more questions. Who is 'Mr. Pool'? Why does he like Peter so much? And why do his friends act more like servants than comrades?DISCLAIMER: this is a mob-boss AU. however, i have no clue how a mob is supposed to work.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Past Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 50
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

Dropping his wallet on his way out of the subway was probably one of the stupidest things Peter had ever done.

Actually, he'd done worse. Like that one time during chemistry in 10th grade when started a fire and had the whole school evacuated, or that other time when he almost blew up his apartment, or that other time when he- _anyway_. He was an idiot.

But the subway car was crowded, far too crowded for his liking, and that allowed creepy people to prey on less creepy people. There was this one shady dude who had pressed his front right up against Peter's back and did _not_ know how to keep his hands to himself, and Peter _may_ have panicked just a little. Sure, he'd taken martial arts for most of his life, but this was the first time anything had actually happened in real life that gave him a chance to use his skills, so he was allowed to blank out, okay?

So, in conclusion, Peter was a mess. He'd tried to forgive himself because it was an honest mistake (and Ben had always told Peter that honest mistakes deserved forgiveness), but he just _couldn't_. All of his money was in his wallet (a whopping $34), and he wasn't going to get paid for two more weeks.

When he did finally realize his wallet was missing, it was past midnight and Peter was dead on his feet. He couldn't do much more than groan about it for a few seconds before collapsing into bed and passing out with his shoes still on.

-

The next morning, he woke up at nine when his work had started at eight-thirty. He called in sick because he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed.

Peter just sat around all day with nothing to do. Every time his stomach rumbled, he shoved his hunger aside and continued to watch YouTube. He couldn't afford to waste the little food he had, not when all his money was gone.

Around four, he got his mail, mentally thanking himself for paying his bills last week. As he flipped through junk mail, looking for anything from May, he came across a yellow envelope that clearly had something small and rectangular inside. He flipped it over and found his address written with...red crayon? And, strangely enough, there wasn't a return address.

After he walked back inside and threw the rest of his mail away (there was nothing from May), he undid the brad on the envelope, and inside was his wallet! He quickly checked to make sure everything was there, which it was, down to the $34.85 and his many gift cards. Strange. Even the most honest person in New York would've taken his cash before returning it to him.

He wasn't about to question this strange gift. The envelope didn't seem _quite_ empty, so he reached back inside and almost threw the envelope in shock when he pulled out a handful of twenty-dollar bills. He counted them. There were ten in total. Peter felt faint.

Again, Peter wasn't going to take this stroke of luck for granted. Still thoroughly bewildered, he tucked the $200- _$200!_\- into his wallet and walked back inside to contemplate his life for a moment.

Later, he used the money to buy two weeks' worth of groceries.

-

The next week, he found $300 in the mail, this time enclosed in a classic white envelope, his address written in magenta crayon.

Another week went by, and Peter opened the door to go to work one morning and found a nightstand sitting a foot from his door. On it was three Target gift cards, a table lamp from Crate & Barrel, and an alarm clock. The wood that the nightstand was made out of happened to perfectly match his bed frame.

A few days after that, a random pizza delivery guy showed up. He thrust the pizza box (Domino's) into Peter's arms along with three shopping bags from various clothing stores. He ran a hand through his (admittedly fairly greasy and gross-looking) hair and stalked off, muttering angrily. Peter stood in his doorway for a moment before calling out, "Do you want me to pay?" But the man had already disappeared.

Finally, almost a month after he lost his wallet, Peter opened his door after he heard a knock, and was greeted by an extremely expensive-looking couch just sitting in the hallway outside his door. After shouting a quick "Thank you!" down the hall (as he didn't see anyone drop it off), he called MJ.

-

"So, you've been left money, furniture, and clothes anonymously these past few weeks?" MJ asked. She sat in Peter's living room, on the couch that they had managed to bring in together.

"Yes! It makes no sense!" Peter was pacing in front of her. "And I know nothing, _nothing_, about the person that's just... giving me shit! All I know is that they like crayon, and that's really not much. That and they're rich, I guess."

"Oh, my bad. You've been left money and furniture by a rich, childish person that refuses to let you know anything about themself these past few weeks?" As she spoke, MJ smirked like she didn't believe a word Peter said. Which made sense, he guessed, except for the fact that she _saw_ and was currently _sitting on_ the most recent 'gift', as MJ had dubbed them.

"You don't believe me! How do you not believe me?" Peter ceased his pacing and stood in front of MJ, with his arms held out in a sort of 'why does the universe curse me with this shit' pose.

"I believe you," She said, her smirk softening to something fonder, "I just don't get why you'd be upset over a rich person sending you stuff and not asking for anything in return. I mean, I'd expect toe-pics, at the very least."

Peter looked at her helplessly. "It's not right! I shouldn't be expected to accept these things when I have no clue who's sending them."

"Well then, what do you think you should do?"

"I should at least know who they are, be able to say thank you to their face rather than just saying it to the air whenever I find something that they've left for me."

MJ's smile was all fond now, no trace of sarcasm or teasing when Peter looked at her. "Only you, Pete. Only you."

Sometimes, Peter forgot that he used to date MJ. Back in high school, years ago, they were a thing. A pretty good thing. So good to the point they accidentally shut Ned out, and it took him ignoring them for a solid week to pull them out of their own little bubble. They broke up after three months, but their friendship was never really the same. It wasn't awkward, thank god, but it was just a little off from the way they used to be before, and _definitely_ different from both of their friendships with Ned. Now, they were a tiny bit more careful around the other and slightly more caring than they used to be. But in moments like these, when MJ had an expression nearly identical to the one she wore when they were dating, Peter was almost forcefully reminded that _he_ was the one who broke up with _her_. And honestly, it concerned him a little, sometimes.

"Well then, what should I do?" Peter asked, trying to ignore the look on MJ's face. Luckily, it disappeared quickly; he didn't think she even realized she was making it.

"Honestly, Peter, just go with it. You have a rich person sending you, a broke person- don't give me that look you know I'm right- money and furniture without asking _anything_ in return. Accept the money. Don't think too hard about it." And with that, she hugged him and left for her date with her girlfriend.

-

Everyone else had more or less the same advice as MJ.

"If you ever get too much money, just send me some alright?" Said Ned while they were working on their current project, an actual functioning lightsaber.

"Peter, you better invite me over so I can help arrange your new furniture. I love you, but you have _no_ sense of interior design." Said May.

"Honestly, Pete, don't look into it too much. You don't want to." Said his boss, Mr. Stark.

"If you can, I think you should thank them. But don't look for them if they don't want to be found." Said Mr. Stark's CEO, Ms. Potts.

"Dude, stop complaining to me about this. Take the money." Said Ned.

And so, when a paper arrived three weeks later with nothing but an address written on it in blue crayon, Peter searched the address on Google Maps. And although he puzzled for a moment when he found it belonged to a residential area, it didn't stop him from driving there the very same afternoon.

-

_As the subway car emptied, a young man pushed exceptionally hard against the crowd, almost tripping on his untied shoelaces multiple times. His face clearly showed panic and fear, although no one looked at him long enough to notice. Except, that is, for another man that shared the same car. With a hood shadowing most of his face and gloves that covered his hands, most people that had shared his car had stayed far away, giving him a clear view of what had occurred. The hooded man followed the younger one, shoving a particular person a bit harder than what was necessary, but hey- he saw what had happened, and he was _so_ not here for it._

_And so, when the man that looked almost under drinking age tripped again and a brown wallet fell out of his back pocket, Wade scooped it up and held it tight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! kudos and comments (especially constructive criticism) are always appreciated!
> 
> here's the original prompt:  
One day, you lose your wallet, and it is found by a mob boss who figures out that you aren't in such a good place financially, and takes pity on you. So, they start anonymously sending cash, clothes, and furniture to you in the mail. Eventually, the mob boss sends you a letter stating they bought you a house and lists an address. What do you do?
> 
> also, i feel like i should add that i'm not quite sure where the story's going to go. i'm mostly writing because this is the easiest work i've ever written- it practically writes itself. but if you're looking for a work that follows specific guidelines, tropes, or cliches, i'm warning you that this probably won't be it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay so i meant for peter to meet wade but i got carried away writing so thats gonna happen in chapter 3. in this chapter though, peter goes to the address, we meet a few more characters, and get a little more insight on mj

The taxi Peter took drove away behind him, leaving him staring up at the mansion in front of him. 

Although Peter wasn't _ quite _ standing in the mansion's shadow, it sure _ felt _ that way, with its excessive amount of windows and three floors. But no, Peter wasn't standing in the mansion's grandeur shadow. He was on the other side of the front lawn, a good 100 feet away from the door. The mansion's umbra spanned at least half of it.

The entire property sent alarm bells ringing through his head, saying _ why would you be invited here? You're just a nobody from Queens _ , and _ you aren't wealthy enough to even _ touch _ a single blade of grass on the entire lawn _ , and _ whoever brought you here probably just wants to suck your feet and then kick you out because even they know you're too poor to be in the presence of such riches _. 

But Peter ignored his doubts and instead began the long trek up to the huge wooden double doors, ignoring the many statue-shaped shrubs he passed on the way. He would not let this place intimidate him. He would _ not _.

He did.

By the time he got to the massive front doors, he had passed two giraffe statues, two human ones, three horses, and a dolphin that spit actual water into the mouth of a frog. And those were only the ones lining the walkway.

He knocked on the right door with his fist, pointedly ignoring the giant brass door-knocker, and waited. 

Eventually (it had been like two minutes, but Peter expected someone who owned a mansion like this one to have at least three butlers and five maids- or at least enough to be able to get the door without the person on the other side having to wait more than a few seconds), the door opened, revealing a middle-aged Indian man.

"Oh, hello! So sorry for the wait," he said, "Come in, come in!" He turned around to walk back inside. Peter followed him.

"My name is Dopinder. May I take your jacket?" He held out an arm, and Peter shrugged off his coat and gave it to him. Dopinder toddled away to put it on a coat rack, next to a jacket much, much bigger than Peter's own. 

"I am Mister Pool's friend," He chatted away happily, "We've been good friends ever since he refused to pay his cab fare. He can be rude, but he gave me good advice on my love life. I owe him for that." Dopinder stopped talking for a second and seemed to reminisce, and Peter gratefully took it as an opportunity to cut in.

"Who's Mister Pool?" 

"Mister Pool lives here! He owns this house and many others, but he doesn't visit the others as much as this one. One time he even-"

"That's enough, Dopinder," said a voice from the stairs to Peter's right. He looked up and saw a man that looked vaguely familiar, but not enough that Peter could place where he saw the dude before. Not yet, at least. "I'll take him from here."

"Of course, Mister Ha-"

"Like I said, I'll take Peter from here." The man's acne-littered face soured a bit. "Just... go clean the kitchen or something. Or, actually, take the rest of the day off. Go see Gita."

"Oh, thank you so much, Mist-" Dopinder cut himself off when the man's frown deepened. "Oh, right. Well, good luck Mister Peter! Mister Pool is very fond of you, I'm sure you will have no problem-"

"_ Dopinder _." The man ground out, and Dopinder let out a small squeak before running out of the room. The man turned to Peter. "Sorry about him. He can get chatty."

But Peter had other questions. "That man said he was Pool's friend. If he was his friend, why was he offering to take my coat and acting like a servant?" He didn't know who this 'Mister Pool' was, but Peter was sure they wouldn't get along very well.

The man sighed. "He's just like that. Don't worry, he gets paid really well."

O...kay?

"Anyway," the man started, looking more and more tired as he stood there, "Come with me. I'll take you to meet the boss." Sounds legit.

Peter walked up the stairs to join the man, and once he did they walked up side by side. "So, who's Pool?"

"He's the man who runs this place." 

"Where is he?"

"We're going to him right now."

"What's your name?"

At this, the man sighed and somehow managed to look even more haggard as he stared blankly in front of him. "Just call me Weasel."

A spark of realization came to Peter. "You're the pizza-delivery guy!"

Weasel didn't even blink. "Yup. That's me."

Peter paused for a few seconds as he thought about it. His silence didn't last for long, though. "Why Weasel?"

"Do you always ask this many questions?" Weasel snapped, finally turning his gaze towards Peter.

"Only when I visit mysterious mansions with incredible sculptures that send me their address in the mail written in crayon."

Weasel somehow managed to scrape together enough energy to laugh. "Oh, so you're the sassy type. Wade's gonna like you." Wade? "Speaking of which, we're here." While they'd been talking, they had walked up to the third floor through a seemingly unnecessary amount of turns. Peter didn't think he could find his way out of this place no matter how hard he tried. Now, though, they stood in front of a door that managed to look more imposing than all the others. "Just a word of advice, kid: don't stare."

"Huh?" Was all Peter could get out before Weasel grabbed his wrist and shoved the door open, marching both of them inside.

"Wade, you miserable son of a bitch, the only good thing in your shithole of a life has arrived!" Weasel called out.

The room they stood in was huge. And empty. There were windows on the entire back wall, casting light on every point in the room. However, the only things casting a shadow were a desk towards the back, a chair in front of the desk, and a second chair behind the desk with its back facing Peter and Weasel.

And right there, on that desk, stood a little nameplate reading _ Wade W. Wilson _. 

"Did he, now?" Came a low, rough, fairly intimidating voice from behind the chair. 

Weasel just rolled his eyes and shoved Peter forward, who immediately tried to move back. To his dismay, Weasel was stronger than he looked, and Peter couldn't move back an inch. "Yes, he did. Now stop pining and whining like a teenager over your 'lost love'," Weasel said the last bit in a whiny voice. "It was giving all of us headaches. Even Dopinder couldn't stand you. Dopinder!"

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't keep my guest waiting." The way the word 'guest' was pronounced made shivers run up and down Peter's spine. What kind of shivers, he couldn't tell yet.

But Peter shook off the shivers and stood up straighter because the chair was finally, slowly, _ agonizingly _ turning around and he wanted to see the face of his mysterious charity doner.

When the chair finally made a full 180, Peter almost wished he threw the very first $200 in the trash can.

-

_"Hey," MJ said, slipping into the seat._

_"You're late." Was the reply from her girlfriend, sitting across the booth and already sipping her milkshake._

_"I know, and I'm sorry. I was with Peter." She picked up the menu and opened it, filling the space between them and successfully avoiding meeting her lover's eyes._

_"MJ, please. You know I don't mind you seeing Peter. He's your friend." Her voice was soft, and she slid her arm across the table to take MJ's hand. "Look at me," she murmured._

_MJ laid her menu down and gripped her girlfriend's hand with two of her own. "I know," she said, "I just can't help feeling a little guilty."_

_Shuri sighed, and placed her second hand on top of MJ's. "Don't be. It's not your fault. You can't control those types of feelings- nobody can. It's not your fault for feeling this way. I know Peter and I have never met, but based on how you and Ned talk about him, he seems sweet." She gently squeezed her and her girlfriend's intertwined hands. "I know you think it makes you a bad person to still hold feelings for him, but it doesn't. You aren't flirting with him, you aren't trying to date him. You're right here with me." She smiled. "And that's what matters."_

_Shuri let go of their hands and sat back in her seat. "Now, do you want to help me with this or not?" She gestured to the milkshake in front of her. "I saved you the cherry."_

_MJ let out a sigh, reaching forward to pluck the cherry off the top of the whipped cream. "Oh my god, you're the best," She said, popping it into her mouth. "What would I do without you?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! tell me what you think in the comments!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wade and peter meet, peter gets lost, and wade's turning out to have a darker past than i originally intended (but is anyone really surprised? this is a mob boss au, after all)

Wade Wilson looked bored. Bored and like he just crawled out of a horror novel.

Scars crisscrossed all over his face and neck and anywhere Peter could see, all the way down to his hands that were clasped together tightly. Most were straight lines but a few were curved or jagged; one, in particular, zig-zagged across his face from his right eyebrow to his chin, narrowly missing his eye. What looked like a burn scar crept up his jaw from his neck. He was a walking nightmare, and Peter was scared for his life (not to be rude or anything). 

The worst part was that, even with all the scars, Wade Wilson still managed to be devastatingly handsome. His jawline was so sharp it could probably cut Peter's finger if he touched it. His eyes were dark blue, captivating Peter and holding him still. But the hottest thing was just his _demeanor_, the way he sat and the expression on his face and the vibe he gave off. Peter had never felt gayer than when he saw Wade Wilson for the first time- which was amusing because he was actually bi.

"Hey, Petey-Pie," He said, and holy shit his voice was hot when it was directed at him.

"Um, just Pe- just Peter is fine," He managed to choke out, his voice cracking halfway through.

"Okay, Petey-Pie." He _still _hadn't broken eye contact with Peter.

Peter was so screwed.

Weasel let go of Peter's back and shuffled back a bit. "Yeah, okay. I'm just gonna go, cuz this feels awkward and like I'm intruding and-"

"Just go, Weasel." Wade Wilson's voice dropped even lower, and Weasel scurried out of the room, almost as fast as Dopinder did earlier.

An awkward silence fell between them in the now-empty room.

"So-" Peter started.

"So."

"You're the one who found my wallet?" Peter asked.

Wade Wilson nodded. "Yup." He didn't offer any further information.

"Well, thank you? I guess?" Peter had a brief internal debate before his impulsive side won over and he continued to talk. "Um, if it's not rude or anything, can I ask- can I ask about everything else?"

Wade Wilson leaned forward in his chair, and Peter gulped at how predatory the man looked. Not that he looked anywhere _near _friendly earlier, but when he leaned forward all of his muscles shifted and Peter was suddenly blatantly _staring _at Wade. He couldn't even bring himself to listen to whatever the man was saying. "-Mean, everything else?"

"Er- sorry, what?" Peter shook himself out of his daze and forced his eyes away from Wade Wilson's arms and back to his eyes.

"I said, what do you mean, everything else?" Wade's eyes were shining and crinkled around the edges and Peter knew that he'd been caught looking. _ Fuck _.

"With the- with the money and the pizza and the couch and everything else. Why did you give them to me?"

"Oh! That." Wade Wilson waved his hand like he was waving away a fly. "That was nothing."

Nothing? _ Nothing? _ Goddamn, Peter knew he wasn't significant to someone this wealthy, but he'd expected to mean a little more than _nothing_.

"Um, okay." Peter tried to gather his thoughts a little without damaging his already bruised and fragile ego. "Why'd you bring me here, then?"

Wade Wilson leaned back in his chair, spreading his arms and looking _way _smugger than he had the right to. "Baby boy, I didn't bring you anywhere. _ You _ came to _ me _."

Excuse him if he got the wrong idea, but when someone gets sent money and furniture and clothes, they typically expect to be treated with a little more respect from the person doing the sending. Peter was no different. So for Wade Wilson to act like a fuck boy who didn't give a shit about Peter kind of rubbed him the wrong way.

Peter crossed his arms and subconsciously widened his stance. "Okay, fine," he stated, done with Wilson's bullshit. "Why'd you send me your address?"

"Awww, Petey-pie!" Wade crooned at Peter like he was an adorable puppy, "You _do _have a backbone! I'm so proud."

Leveling Wilson with his best glare (which _had _frightened off a few people in the past), Peter tilted his chin up and tried his best to act tough (again, he had been successful before). "I swear to god, Wilson, if you don't stop clowning around and take me seriously I _will_ leave and you will _never _see me again."

Wilson just stared at Peter for an uncomfortable ten seconds before stage-whispering, "_Adorable_."

Peter turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

-

Well, shit.

Peter had been trying to find his way out of this place for at least half an hour, and he was still no closer to the exit than he was when he had stormed out of Wade Wilson's office.

Shit. Wade Wilson.

Honestly, Peter was pretty pissed at himself. Pissed that he had come here, pissed that he had let Wade Wilson get to him, pissed that his emotions got the best of him and now he was lost. But mainly, Peter was pissed at Wade. Pissed that he was so _hot_.

The scars were bad, Peter knew. He wasn't blind. He knew that just about anybody else would've run out of that room screaming. Peter, not so much. May made sure to raise him better than that.

Peter was less concerned about how Wade's scars looked, and more about how they got there. People got scars from falling off their bike, from accidentally spilling hot water on themself. Wade's scars weren't like that. Every single one looked to be from some sort of nasty injury, nasty enough to not be accidental.

Turning into another hallway that looked exactly like the one before, Peter checked his phone, groaning when he realized he didn't have any signal. There went his plan to call MJ. She always knew what to do.

He picked up his pace a little, hurrying through doorways and halls. As he fast-walked, he felt something a little like panic settle in the back of his throat.

How the hell did every single thing in this house look the exact same? The hallways, the doors, every little detail down to the arrangement of the flowers on the small tables on the sides of the hall were exactly the same. Who the fuck designs a house like that? Was it meant to keep people inside and trapped forever?

The fear in his throat rose and bubbled until he was about to sob, but Peter swallowed it down and kept moving. There was no way he was showing any sort of weakness in such a foreign place. He was getting out of here, he knew it. It just might take a little time.

He heard footsteps in the distance and tried his best to move towards them. A left through this door, right down this hallway, and they were getting closer! He could feel it!

He pushed his way through more doors and hallways, stumbling up staircases and almost running into tables. He practically sprinted up a stairway before turning left and running _straight _into another person, knocking them both to the ground.

"Ugh," Peter mumbled, picking himself off of the person beneath him, "...Dopinder? I thought you went home for the day?"

"I was about to," Dopinder said in that happy, oblivious way of his, "but then I realized I left my anniversary present for Gita in the kitchens and I had to come back to get it! We've been together for six months now."

"Oh, um, congratulations," Peter said, trying to pull himself together. Dopinder had a way of throwing him off guard. "Um, you don't think you could help me find my way out of here, do you? I'm a little lost." He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck a bit.

"Oh, of course! Follow me." Dopinder strolled off in a seemingly random direction and Peter followed.

They walked through the many hallways, making twists and turns, and just like when Peter walked through with Weasel, he wasn't able to keep track of where they came from.

"Uh, Dopinder? Can I ask you a question?" Peter asked tentatively.

Dopinder didn't even turn around as he answered, fully concentrated on the path he was taking through the mansion. "Yes?"

"How do you keep track of where you're going in this place?"

"Mr. Pool had me memorize the layout of the mansion when I first came to work here. It took at least five months to keep everything straight."

"What about the people who don't have everything memorized? What do they do when they get lost?"

"Don't worry about that, Mr. Parker. Just ask for help, and Mr. Pool will hear you."

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"Just ask for help out loud, and Mr. Pool will hear you."

"That doesn't really clear up anything, but thanks anyway."

"Of course!" Dopinder stopped in the middle of a random hallway, forcing Peter to stop too. "I'm always happy to help Mr. Pool's guests." He moved towards a small table on the side of the hallway. 

Peter stayed silent as he watched Dopinder grasp the handle to the table's only drawer, and his jaw dropped a little when Dopinder pulled swiftly down, and the whole front of the drawer fell open and hit the ground with a loud _thunk_, exposing a small passageway about three feet both tall and wide. "Dopinder, what-"

"Shhh," he said, "Mr. Pool likely sees us, but let's not sign our own deaths that much."

"I don't think that's quite how it-"

"Shhh!" He said again and dropped to the floor, climbing on all fours into the tunnel. "Come in, come in! It's much shorter to the door this way."

"I- okay? Okay." And with that, Peter followed Dopinder into the dark tunnel, wondering just how little he knew about this house and the people who lived inside of it.

-

"Glad to see he managed to find his way out," Weasel said. "I got a little concerned for him at the end."

Wade frowned. "Yeah. Just wish I was the one that found him."

Wade and Weasel kept their eyes glued on the surveillance screens in front of them. There were at least two dozen mounted on the wall, all showing different parts of the house at different angles. The one they were fixated on, however, showed the front porch. Peter was smiling and waving goodbye to Dopinder as he started the obnoxiously long trek to the street.

"He's kinda cute, for a dude. Too bad he hates you."

Wade sighed a little, resting his chin in his hands as he stared dreamily- and a little crazily- at the screen. "Don't worry. I'll find a way to make him mine."

Weasel looked at him with concern and a tiny bit of disgust. "Dude. Stop that. You don't want a repeat of Vanessa, do you?"

Wade's face darkened considerably. "Shut up. Peter's different. He won't end up like her."

"I'm just saying, you might want to be careful-"

"Shut UP!" Wade stood abruptly, thumping his hand on the desk in front of them. "He won't turn out like she did. He _won't_. He _ can't _."

Weasel sighed. "Whatever you say, dude. Don't come running to me if he ends up in a-"

Wade stormed out of the room before Weasel could finish, slamming the door behind him.

Weasel sat down in the chair, sighed again, and put his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this took so long! i know i kinda promise it'd be out yesterday, but shit happened and i couldn't revise until tonight. thank you for reading! any kudos or comments (especially constructive criticism, i'm always trying to get better) are appreciated!


End file.
